


This Is The Way The World Ends

by verhalen



Series: Northern Lights [25]
Category: Multi-Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dagor Dagorath, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Sensitivity, Gen, Magical Realism, One Shot, Parenthood, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Dagnýr Sigurdsson feels the end of one universe, and is caught in the storm at the beginning of a new era._Set after the end ofChains Of Eternity, a follow-up toThe Silence of Dust, and leads intoFlames of Eternity(the novel-length sequel ofChains).This storywill notmake sense if you have not been readingChainsand the one-shots in theNorthern Lights'verse, and there ARE spoilers.





	This Is The Way The World Ends

**October 2020**  
_Toronto, Ontario, Canada_  
  
  
"Class dismissed! Have a great rest of the day!"  
  
Dagnýr Sigurdsson smiled at his students as they left the classroom, a smile of encouragement, pride -  _you can do it. You are the future._  
  
When it was just one left, slow to pack up her things and head out, Dagnýr's eyes trailed to his favorite work by his fraternal twin brother Sören, of which he'd bought the original to hang in his classroom. It was one of Sören's earliest works, all the way back to 2006, a catharsis in the weeks of fury following the necessary death of their uncle Einar, who Sören had Force choked to death before Einar could rape Margrét to death. Called  _Eschaton_ , it was the clash of mythology and science, the universe being torn asunder, galaxies spiraling, wild with dying stars, a sparkling, pure white firebird flying from a supernova, breathing fire upon a god-like shadowy figure who wore a crown, horns and wielded a great hammer, creating a flaming rip in the fabric of space.  
  
He looked at it, as he did each day when class was over. The reminder that humanity had the potential to destroy itself, to snuff out all of its rich history, stories, beauty, gone forever - and some would blame this on the march of progress, of technological advancement and new scientific discoveries. But for Dagnýr, science was hope - even now that he'd met ancient beings that science would say did not exist, he himself bore powers that science would think not possible. Every step forward humanity took, in Dagnýr's eyes, was a step closer to enlightenment, a step closer to humans finally understanding they needed to come together across race, creed, a step further away from the extinction event that loomed over all.  
  
His uncle Einar had mocked him, before he'd escaped to Oxford, and sometimes the voice still rang out two decades later:  _I work every day for a living putting food in your worthless mouth. You are good for nothing. All you do is hide behind your books, but what use is it in the real world? Who gives a shit about any of it?_  
  
Dagnýr finally answered back with his own words, arguing with a ghost long gone.  _They will be giving a shit twenty years from now. Hopefully two hundred. Two thousand._  He squared his shoulders.  _My name will live on in history, with the work I have done. No one - except maybe my siblings - will remember_  you.  _Þú varst alltaf sá sem var sannarlega einskis virði, frændi._  
  
He had lived longer outside of Iceland than he'd lived in it - his accent was wholly Canadian now, and he thought more in English, but when his thoughts reverted to Icelandic...  
  
_Sören._  
  
He could feel the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end.  
  
His eyes went back to the firebird. He was right there now, in that universe, the painting made real.  
  
_Then perish,_  the Flame Imperishable spoke to the Dark Lord.  
  
The firebird's eyes glowed, diamond-brilliant.  
  
Dagnýr dropped to his knees with a choking gasp, as if the breath was sucked out of him, caught in a wave of fire.  
  
In his mind's eye, he saw a volcano, erupting.  
  
"Professor Sigurdsson?" called his student, in the distance, but she might have well been miles away. He was holding the edge of his desk, trembling, the room spinning. "Are you all right?"  
  
He couldn't answer. He couldn't make words. There were no words. There was  _nothing._  He couldn't breathe. There was only fire. Everything was too hot, too bright. The ground shook, though nobody else could feel it... the walls shimmered and vibrated, though nobody else could see it.  
  
So bright. World swallowed in white fire...  
  
"Somebody help the professor to the infirmary! Or call paramedics!"  
  
  
_  
  
  
Dagnýr opened his eyes. His husband Matt was at his side, face pinched with worry, stroking his hair, his face.  
  
He looked over at the doctor, who was smiling. "OK," she said. "Hi. Glad you're with us again."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"You fainted. We ran some tests on you - thankfully, it wasn't a heart attack or a stroke. So we think it may have been a panic attack, considering the news of what happened in your home country."  
  
_It wasn't a fucking panic attack._  Dagnýr's eyes met Matt's again - they had the same exact thought at the same exact time.  
  
"I would advise you to take the rest of this week off, get some rest, and then next week, get an appointment with a professional -"  
  
Dagnýr waved his hand dismissively. "I already go to therapy once a week and I'm on an antidepressant."  
  
"Your meds may need adjusting, with a panic attack this severe."  
  
"Fine." He wasn't about to argue with her, he just wanted to go home.  
  
He rode in the passenger's seat, Matt driving home. "Where are the twins?" he asked.  
  
"With Jamie." Jamie was a neighbor of theirs, teenage girl, nice kid.  
  
"Jesus Christ." Dagnýr rubbed his face like a wet cat, disgruntled to be given a bath. "I wonder if they've been screaming up a storm."  
  
"Probably." Matt's jaw set. "So...  _that._ " He looked over at Dagnýr, and then back at the highway. "Real talk now, I felt it too. And... the Eyjafjallajökull volcano erupted." He mangled the pronunciation, as all non-Icelanders did. "It was on the news."  
  
Dagnýr folded his arms, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. "I didn't see the news, I was in class, I had no way of knowing, but I still... saw. I didn't know how to tell the doctor in there,  _oh yeah, I just felt everyone in my family die in another universe._ "  _And judging from the eruption, Sören felt it too._  
  
"That's... what it was?"  
  
Their eyes met, and held. "Brian - Gandalf - whatever the fuck his name is, warned us this was coming, over a year ago. It... it came." Dagnýr pinched the bridge of his nose.  _My brother, the shitposting memelord, literally destroyed Melkor with a meme. "Then perish." That is the most Sören thing Sören has ever done._  "So now..."  
  
"Yeah, now what, exactly?" Matt raised an eyebrow.  
  
"What comes after any explosion like that. The fallout." Dagnýr shivered.  
  
  
_  
  
  
**November 2020**  
  
These had been strange weeks. After a few days off last month, Dagnýr had returned to work as usual. The campus was abuzz with students talking about the weird weather, an increase in "spoop" and "creepypasta". The calm, rational atmosphere of Dagnýr's classroom was an oasis, even as Dagnýr knew the truth of what was happening. He remembered Brian's words in Reykjavik, after Margrét's wedding, after they had seen in the  _palantir_  what they needed to put the last pieces of this puzzle together.  
  
_As above, so below. What happens in the first universe that was, affects all the others, somehow, as a rock thrown into a pond makes ripples. The end there, is the new beginning, here. Magic comes back into the world, for better or for worse.  
  
...It will get worse before it gets better._  
  
Matt was feeding the twins when he got home. Dagnýr smiled - at least there was this. A star of hope. Harmony in the chaos.  
  
"We're low on diapers," Matt said, looking up. "I meant to tell you yesterday but I forgot after the fiasco of our daughter deciding to pee on me -"  
  
Dagnýr chuckled. This was  _such_  welcome normalcy. "It's fine. Let's make a run to the store, grab diapers, some other odds and ends, yeah?"  
  
It was a perfectly boring, mundane shopping trip, with Carrie and Maedelle riding in the twin stroller, sucking their pacifiers - every now and again Dagnýr looked at his daughters, the dark-haired Carrie, the red-haired Maedelle, and his eyes teared up a little, tiny and beautiful,  _his blood_. Moments like this, he understood what Maglor was on about, with the Song. He could hear it sometimes, when he looked at his girls.   
  
He closed his eyes - he could feel Galadriel looking in at them, across the chasm between worlds, over in Valinor.  
  
Her voice spoke into his mind, deep and clear as a bell.  _Hanno. Merin sinomë nelyë._  
  
Dagnýr smiled.  _I miss you too._  His hand rose slightly in greeting, though to anyone else looking at him in the store, nobody would know who he was waving at.  
  
_They are lovely, Finrod._  A pause.  _I suppose this means I will not see you for some time._  
  
_Probably not._  His eyes opened and met Matt's, who was giving him a curious look.  
  
_I understand. Be well._  
  
The connection dropped then, as if she "hung up the phone", and it was Matt who spoke into his mind now, across their Force bond.  
  
_Was that Galadriel again?_  
  
_Yeah._  Dagnýr ran a nervous hand through his hair.  _That will never stop being weird._  
  
_No shit? Hi, this is my husband, Finrod Fucking Felagund..._  
  
Dagnýr snorted.  _And welcome to our reality TV show, Keeping Up With the Fëanorions..._  
  
They checked out, and on their way to Matt's Volvo, a gaunt, florid-faced middle-aged woman, homeless from the looks of her - tattered clothing, long grey hair greasy and matted - staggered towards them.  
  
Dagnýr sighed - even here in Canada, light years ahead of the US on social issues, there was homelessness, poverty. It  _hurt_  to see. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, readying a bank note that would be enough to buy the woman a meal, not enough to buy drugs.  
  
But then their eyes met, and there was a wild look in her blue eyes that alarmed him. The stroller stopped rolling.  
  
"You," the woman called out, pointing a finger at Dagnýr, her hand shaking. " _I know what you are._ "  
  
Dagnýr took a deep breath. He'd heard all of the "creepypasta" about increased paranormal activity, religious and spiritual people of any kind feeling that something had gone awry, and of course many people with the kind of mental illness that would contribute to homelessness had sensitivities as well. But this was the first time since the Dagor Dagorath that anyone had  _seen_  him.   
  
This was the first time, period, that anyone had seen him. Indeed, one of Dagnýr's reasons for becoming a scientist years ago was it was the last place anyone would look for someone like him.  
  
Dagnýr held out the bank note. "Take this and go in peace."  
  
" _You don't belong here._ " And then her mad gaze turned towards the baby girls, who were getting agitated in their stroller, whimpering. " _They_  don't belong here."  
  
In a flash, she had a knife in her hand, and lunged for the stroller.  
  
Before he knew what he was doing, Dagnýr waved his hand and the woman was flung back three meters, landing on her backside in the hard pavement.   
  
He never used the Force in public before today - he had spent his entire life keeping his abilities masked, necessarily. He would  _not_  have used it in public like this, with the risk of exposure, if it was not necessary. She was mad, and to be pitied, but she would attack his children, and he was not having that, meeting fire with fire.  
  
Her madness and the hardening of a life on the streets gave her an immunity to pain. She got up, and now there was a knife in the other hand as she  _threw_  the first one -  
  
He caught it with superhuman reflexes, and Dagnýr raised his other fist, clenching it. The woman  _flew_  two meters upward in the air, arms and legs flailing, choking, suspended in air, looking at him with terror as she struggled for breath, struggled against the lock he had on her.  
  
"I told you," he said through grit teeth, "to leave in peace. You would attempt to harm children.  _My_  children. With your sad, ruined life it would be a mercy to kill you. I will not deal in mercy today."  
  
He let go, and she dropped to the ground again, crying out as she hit the pavement hard - still alive, but now injured, likely broken bones. "Go go GO," Dagnýr yelled at Matt, who ran, pushing the stroller. Dagnýr used the Force to shove the carriage of groceries down the parking lot to his car, and ran behind. He popped the trunk and used the Force to load the items from the carriage to the trunk - at this point, time was of the essence to get the  _fuck_  out of there, it was too late to pretend to be normal.  
  
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Dagnýr looked around nervously. "It wasn't busy," he said, "so I don't think we were seen."  
  
"Hopefully." Matt nodded.  
  
"Hopefully." Dagnýr cringed as he heard his babies crying, shaken up from the disturbance. "Close call. Too close for comfort."  
  
How many more times would this happen? Would this be an angry mob next time, instead of a lone attacker?  
  
_  
  
The first forty-eight hours after the attack, and Dagnýr's response in public, he braced himself, wondering if he'd be caught. But there was nothing, and the days continued to go on as normal - whatever normal even was anymore - and he relaxed.  
  
It got to be the twenty-fifth of November, Dagnýr's thirty-sixth birthday, and what would also be Sören's... not that it mattered, now. Dagnýr and Matt were going out to dinner and a movie, just the two of them, the first real date they'd had since the twins arrived. Normally Dagnýr would have hired Jamie to babysit, happy to give her extra money, but after the incident at the grocery store he didn't want to potentially put a teenage girl in harm's way, if anyone else sensing what the girls were came sniffing by.  
  
So he hired the one local he knew  _could_  deal with it.  
  
"Say hi to uncle Olórin."  
  
Carrie spit up formula onto "Brian Proust"'s sweater. Brian raised an eyebrow at Dagnýr.  
  
"OK, so," Dagnýr said, trying to disguise his amusement and failing, "pretty straightforward. There's diapers, an instruction manual for how to change them, and they'll need to be fed around eight o'clock, then burped. If they can't get to sleep, they like being sung to, if you don't want to sing, they like Miley Cyrus for some reason." He could feel Maglor cringing all the way in Iceland.  
  
"Noted," Brian said dryly.  
  
"We'll try to get back at a decent hour - no later than eleven. But we might be a bit late depending on traffic." Dagnýr reached into his pocket for a small notebook, and tore out a sheet of paper he'd prepared, handing it to Brian. "That's emergency contacts in case Force forbid you need them. My cell is at the top of that list, in case we're stuck in traffic and running behind and you need to call and ask what the fuck is going on, Matt's cell is right underneath should I be unreachable like my phone died or something. Sören's, Maglor's, and Dooku's cells are all in the third section on that list, and Matt's parents are in the fourth section should  _they_  be unreachable."  
  
"Also noted. But hopefully it won't come to that."  
  
"Nah, I mean... it's just a few hours. We're not even going that far, I'm just doing a little something for my birthday."  
  
"Yes. Happy birthday, Dagnýr." Brian put a hand on his shoulder. "I do have a gift for you, but I won't delay you any further, I can give it to you when you come back."  
  
"Aw, you didn't have to -"  
  
"You're a dear friend." Brian hugged him. Then he patted Dagnýr's back. "Go. Enjoy yourself."  
  
"Thank you so much for being willing to babysit for me, I really appreciate it!" Dagnýr stopped to kiss his daughters' faces, stroke their hair, boop their little noses, getting choked up at the marvel of these tiny, perfect beings he created. Then he waved on his way out of the elderly professor's house.  
  
Once he was in the car, he pulled out his cell - it was already late evening in Akureyri, Iceland four hours ahead of Toronto, but he had to call his twin today. He dialed Sören's cell, electing to keep the discussion in English for the courtesy of Matt on his end, and Maglor and Dooku on Sören's.  
  
After three rings, Sören answered. "Hej."  
  
"Hi! Happy birthday!"  
  
Sören chuckled. "Jæja, happy birthday! I knew you'd be calling sometime today -"  
  
"Yeah, I wanted to call sooner than this, but you know, school, kids..." Dagnýr laughed. "Never a dull moment."  
  
"I bet. You have plans though, right? All work and no play, and all of that."  
  
"Yeah, Matt and I are on the highway now. We're going out to eat, and then we're gonna see the new Marvel movie. Did you do anything fun for your birthday, even though, well, you know." He wasn't going to say  _even though you're not getting any older anymore_  on the phone.  
  
"We went to the Botanical Garden, and also went to dinner, Nico made a cake, and just before you called the three of us were gonna, um."  
  
Dagnýr facepalmed. "Play a game of Uno?"  
  
"Mmmmmm, something like that."  
  
"Dammit, Sören, TMI."  
  
Snúdur meowed into the phone, and then Huan barked in the distance. "The fur children say hello," Sören said. "How are my goddaughters?"  
  
"Beautiful, wonderful, and perfect. They never cease to amaze me, I made these."  
  
"I hope you got a sitter for the night so you get at least a few hours peace and quiet...?"  
  
"Yeah, I did." Dagnýr snickered, thinking of Carrie spitting up on Brian.  _The House of Finwë troll genes breed true._  "I get anxiety being away from them, but..."  
  
"You need a break every so often and it doesn't make you a bad parent, it makes you human." Sören caught himself then, with a little snort.  
  
"Mhm. Well... I don't want to keep you from your  _ahem, perfectly chaste and pure, wholesome game of Uno._  I just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you on our birthday."  
  
" _Takk, litli bróðir._ "  
  
"You're only seven minutes older, you know."  
  
"You're still my little brother. A little brother who casts a big shadow." Sören's voice was husky with emotion. "I'm very proud of you."  
  
"Jesus, Sören, don't punch me in the feels right now." Dagnýr swallowed hard. "I'm proud of you too." Across their Force bond, across an ocean, Dagnýr hugged Sören with his mind. It was hard to believe sometimes that they had once bitterly opposed each other, thousands of years ago, when they were Finrod and his uncle Fëanor. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."  
  
"You too." A pause. "I love you."  
  
The lapse into Icelandic was deliberate, the language of their hearts, their blood. " _Ég elska þig líka._ "  
  
Matt had made reservations at the Thai place Dagnýr liked, and on their way out they walked past two men in black suits and sunglasses - a bit overdressed for the restaurant, but if they were on a date, Dagnýr knew some gay guys were more vain than others, so it wasn't particularly out of the ordinary.  
  
But then the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end, just before the men paused. "Good evening," said one of them. "Doctor Dagnýr Sigurdsson?"  
  
Dagnýr ran. He got as far as three meters before he was hit with a dart in his back. He heard Matt struggling just before everything went dark.  
  
  
_  
  
It was two in the morning. Olórin looked at the clock with weary eyes. Dagnýr and Matt had not been reachable for hours.  
  
He was going to have to call out of work, much as he hated doing that.  
  
That being said, if what happened was what he  _suspected_  had happened - and there had been interference from the magic of sensitives, somehow, so he couldn't have warned them, wouldn't have known, not until after the fact, when came  _the disturbance in the Force_ , as Fingolfin-Dooku had called it... he wasn't going to be able to stay much longer in Toronto, anyway. It was rather a pity.  
  
Indeed, if his suspicions were correct, he would need to be out of this house, itself, as soon as possible. That was going to be interesting, with the girls and his dog and two cats in the car.  
  
The girls were agitated, whimpering. He changed them, and then rocked them in his arms, singing a spell to help them get back to sleep, what rest they could get for now.  _None of this Miley Cyrus nonsense. Elves these days._  
  
2:24 now. He put them down, and reached for the slip of paper Dagnýr had given him. Iceland was four hours ahead, and Sören Sigurdsson was not a morning person.  
  
He took out one of the flip phones he had in case of an emergency, that would be disposed of immediately after the call was made.  
  
One ring. Two. Three. Four.  
  
A  _growl._  "Whoever the  _fuck_  you are, I'm not interested in what you're selling, especially not at six fucking o'clock in the morning -"  
  
"Fëanor." The emergency codephrase. " _Venenya vilyanirwanen ná quanta as angolingwi._ "  
  
Dead silence. Then, simply: "Go on."  
  
"Ask Macalaurë about the three of you going on a vacation, and the best options for travel and accommodations, I would truly  _love_  to see you again, and I know of two young ladies who would as well. Call me in four hours for further instructions, here is a number you can reach me." He gave Sören the number of another burner phone. "It would be best if you called me from a new phone,  _the reception on yours is rather problematic._ " Before Sören could say anything in response, he concluded, simply, "Good day."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Venenya vilyanirwanen ná quanta as angolingwi_ \- My hovercraft is full of eels. (Quenya)


End file.
